Keeping the Fires Lit
by Rayndrop
Summary: Molly Hooper and the #believeinsherlock campaign. Standalone, but can be considered a missing scene from "The Deaf and the Blind and the Color Red." Short oneshot.


AN: I wrote this tiny oneshot last year as I was starting "The Deaf and The Blind and the Color Red," when the #believeinsherlock movement was in full swing. It was originally a chapter of that fic, but I decided it didn't fit and took it out, posting it on my tumblr solo instead. It can stand on its own or you can consider it a little missing scene!

* * *

The first place Molly Hooper sees one of the graffiti tags is in the underground, on her way to work. She stands and stares at it, not quite believing her eyes: a neon green message scrawled messily across the wall opposite the platform. _I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES._

"Been seeing that everywhere," says a woman standing next to her. "Graffiti and stickers and pins and things. People need a little fantasy in their lives, I guess. Or a little conspiracy theory, at any rate. Want to believe in superheroes."

"They _should_ believe," Molly says heatedly. "They should. He was a… a scientist. And a genius, and a good man." She turns back and looks at the graffiti. "He _was_ a hero."

The woman raises her eyebrows and looks away from Molly again, but Molly does not notice. She is staring at the tunnel wall.

When she gets to work, she goes straight to the computer and prints off a little sign. _I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES. _She outlines the letters in thick red pen and hangs it up on the edge of her desk with cellotape. Her coworkers-few of whom worked with Sherlock when they could help it and none of whom believe his innocence now-carefully ignore it.

In the underground station on the way back, she buys a pin with the message from a homeless man with a little box of them, and puts it on her blouse. She has worked late, and so she is alone on the train. She gets an idea. After she sits down there is a moment's wild hesitation before she pulls her red pen from her handbag. With an electric thrill Molly writes across an advertisement slogans from the man's button box in her hurried, girlish hand: _MORIARTY WAS REAL. SHERLOCK HOLMES WAS A HERO NOT A FRAUD.  
_  
She makes another sign, an _I BELIEVE _one, when she gets home from a sheet of butcher paper and hangs it up in the window of her flat that faces the street. She turns out the lights for bed and looks at the street light shining in through her sign, casting fuzzy shadows of her letters reversed on the floor, and for the first time since Sherlock left, she feels happy.

* * *

The next day she is having lunch in a deli, wearing her pin proudly on her ruffled blouse, when someone sits down next to her. It is a pretty, dark-haired woman with a blackberry in her hand and a mild smile.

"Good afternoon," says the woman. Molly does not know her, but wonders if she should.

"Good afternoon," says Molly uncertainly.

"I'm making a visit on behalf of Mr. Holmes," says the woman without further preamble. "While your support is appreciated, he does feel that it would best if you were less vocal in your... associations."

The name "Mr. Holmes" disorients her for a moment before she remembers his brother. It's a funny thing to forget, she thinks vaguely—the only other friend to share Sherlock's secret. His only other real ally. But he'd never been more than a name in a conversation, then a voice on the phone.

The woman is looking pointedly at her now, as though waiting for some result even as Molly is waiting for further explanation. It isn't until her eyes drop to the pin that she makes the connection.

"Oh!" she says. "Oh, the… oh. Yes, I… I guess I understand what you mean." She feels the bit of joy she snatched deflating, but she understands—understands that for all her good intentions, drawing attention to herself will not aid Sherlock. That the fact she was not an acknowledged ally of Sherlock's was her strength.

That she has already helped him, already done her part. This is a better thought, buoying to hold on to. Molly reaches up and unpins her badge of support, and tucks the point back into its hook. She puts it down on the table and slides it over to the other woman, who raises a subtle eyebrow at Molly.

"I do understand," she says softly. "But. Well. Maybe you can find a use for it."

The woman smiles, takes the pin, nods. Then she gets up and walks out of the deli without a goodbye, leaving Molly alone at the table again with her half-eaten turkey club and diet coke and brown paper napkin.

A little bit later, she dusts her sandwich crumbs thoughtfully off her hands, and then draws a black pen from her handbag. _I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES_, she writes across her napkin. Then she stands, picks up her handbag and her drink, and walks out, with a smile on her face and the confident stride of a conspirator.


End file.
